Artists are temperamental
by Quacked Lurker
Summary: A hit and run bunny attacked my Muse!  Something terrible has happened at the Ark. Can it be fixed before it turns the entire Autobot army upside down, running in fright?


**Disclaim**?

_**Okay, Okay, I DO NOT OWN Transformers, (HASBRO/Takara DOES!).  
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_Life_, mused Red Alert, _is . . . complicated_.

There were no other words to describe the situation. While 'weird' or 'unusual' or 'different' might have worked, those words did not fit. They had not fit since the Autobots (and Decepticons) had awoken from their extremely long, stasis enforced nap. Right now, the typical words were not enough to explain the changes seen.

From the human's point of view, the interior of the Ark - all its walls, ceilings, and visible metal surfaces that had no adornment fastened on them - was an obnoxious, vibrant orange that gleamed so brightly it almost glowed in the dark. Cybertronian optics saw something more.

The walls, so bland to eyes that were blind to anything not in the visible-light spectrum, looked similar to an art-museum. Most of the 'paintings' were what humans would call reproductions. The images were not forgeries. Never forgeries. There was no thief that stole the original and replaced it with a fake. No, these were copies of the original work. Or reprints made by the original artist.

Red Alert was the first one on the scene, and while he might have been the quietest, by no means was he the only one to stumble upon the shocking sight.

Sunstreaker, the Spark-Twin of Sideswipe, and an ex-gladiator fighter who found more value in recreating destroyed paintings and sculptures, was staring at the wall near the entrance, comatose. Puzzled, Red Alert first scanned the yellow-mech, and found nothing unusual. The frontliner's processors were not loop-locked, nor was there any evidence of a virus or outside force keeping him from moving.

Wanting to get to the bottom of this without comming for Ratchet or another medic, Red Alert looked in the direction the other was staring. Nothing unusual, except what appeared to be a freshly applied layer of human-paint. Optics rebooted. Yes, the wall directly in front of Sunstreaker had a fresh coat of earth-made paint.

Red Alert switched to ultraviolet. Vents heaved and shoulders dropped. The rendition of Cybertron's Golden Age's empire had been marred by their well-intending bi-ped visitors. Normally, the microscopic gashes and stylistic flaking paint were undetectable by the humans, (plus Spike, Sparkplug and Carly knew to ask permission before doing anything semi-permanent) but apparently not everyone was willing to overlook the hairline crack that sectioned off the historical scenes.

Gently, Red Alert positioned himself directly between the wall and the yellow Transformer. Sunstreaker shook himself out of the mental daze. "Did you see?" he asked, still in shock at the callus disregard towards art.

"I did." One hand rested on the other's shoulder, almost gently. "Guess we forgot that humans can't see the entire range like we can."

Sunstreaker was vibrating beneath Red's hand. "Don't tell me to ignore it! I can't! Won't! Refuse to!"

"Not going to."

Sideswipe arrived on scene. He was puzzled. "What's going on?"

Red Alert nodded towards the wall behind the red-twin. "Take a glance."

Sideswipe did. He didn't see anything. Then, upon spying Sunstreaker's furious face, looked again. His optics widened. "What? Who did this? Can we punish the miscreant?"

"Not sure, and no."

Both twins stared at the security director, disbelieving. "Humans are not to be punished by us. If there is a problem, we notify Optimus Prime, who then speaks to the individual responsible. For repeat offenses, that one is banned." He stared right back at them. "Prowl and the other officers agreed that this was the best way to handle infractions between our two 'countries'."

Sunstreaker pulled himself away from the group. "I need to refuel."

Red Alert and Sideswipe let the other go. Sideswipe examined the earth-paint. Red Alert watched the prankster and waited for the right moment. "It's an easy fix. If we had the right equipment."

Sideswipe grinned. "Human stuff, eh? I know just the thing."

The two parted ways, one headed outside to start his patrol, the other to continue his job. Beachcomber and TrailBreaker came in just as the two left. The two shook their helms, determining to forget the image of Red Alert and Sideswipe shaking hands, looking almost pleased. "I won't tell Prowl, if you don't."

"Deal."

The earth-day passed slowly. It seemed that way, anyway. There were many observers to Sunstreaker's violent, almost deadly mood. On the battle-field, the yellow fighter was forgiven for his vicious attitude, and descriptive moves, but not in the rec room, where everyone had to enter to grab a cube of energon. While most Bots did not hang around the yellow mech for social activities, they did try to talk to Sunny occasionally. Not this time. Even Jazz skirted around the surly mech.

Prowl, sitting at a corner table, doing paperwork (Ratchet had locked the office in an effort to get Prowl out of the Ark for something other than 'missions' and 'meetings') noticed Sunstreaker's arrival shortly after local dawn. He paid minimal attention to the yellow front-line warrior (it was the red front-line warrior that needed to be watched constantly) after Sunstreaker grabbed a cube of energon and flopped into a chair near the wall. The cube was normal-grade, and Prowl watched with some concern as Sunstreaker nursed the cube as if it were the finest energon ever produced.

The twins, most of the Ark inhabitants even, were not ones to slowly sip a cube of high-grade. Most drowned the high-grade as if it were precious water that would be stolen from underneath their noses. Others partook of high-grade during celebrations and quickly got tipsy. This slow-drinking of an increasingly cooling cube was not an everyday, or even a monthly occurance.

Allowing his curiosity to engage the battle-computer, Prowl waited and watched the yellow mech. He wasn't suicidal, and even Jazz had picked up on the tension Sunny was trying to hold in. Even when the Rec Room filled up, with other off-duty mechs coming in for a cube, they avoided Sunstreaker's table, going so far as to stand against the far wall when all the chairs (barring the three at Sunny's table) were taken.

Hours had passed, and local twilight was approaching. Sunstreaker hadn't moved from his spot. In fact, other than to take a mouthful of energon every couple of breems, Sunstreaker hadn't moved at all. Prowl was about to shove his seat back and approach the brooding warrior when his twin came in, grinning like Chesire's cat.

Sideswipe almost bounced as he walked towards the energon dispencer and grabbed two cubes. He tossed one to Sunstreaker and drained the other in one gulp. Prowl turned off his 'nose' when the red warrior passed by. Sides reeked of something awful. It almost stank as badly as the time Cosmos got sprayed by a skunk. (Everyone, including Ratchet, wanted Cosmos back in the field A.S.A.P. yet the space bot had come in for necessary repairs)

Sideswipe stared at Sunstreaker. Both fighters were at an impass. Finally, Sunny shifted his arm. "It's fixed." was all that Sides said.

The personality change in Sunstreaker was instantaneous. His frown (almost perpetual by now) was gone, replaced by a dropped jaw, and the anger that had created an unaproachable wall between him and the others shattered. "What?"

"Yep," Sideswipe continued to grin like a maniac. "Me and Red fixed it."

"How?" gapped the astonished mech.

Prowl and the few others in the rec room wanted to know that too. Though, they were more interested in what had been broken in such a way that Ratchet, Hoist, Grapple, or any of the other mechanics couldn't fix it.

"Just a little touch up."

Sunstreaker tossed back the remains of his first cube and drained the second. "This I got to see."

Prowl, Hot Spot and Silverbolt followed at a discrete distance. They were puzzled when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker paused just outside the entrance.

"See?"

Sunstreaker laughed as he faced the wall. The others were brave enough to come closer and look at the same section that had 'entertained' the twins.

Other than a few drops of cheep orange paint adding color to the relief painting, the images looked as they always had. Asside from a vague moist appearance that was quickly evaporating in the fading light.

Prowl, examining the wall after the others took off, thought, _Life, is complicated._

**Prompt taken from TF Bunny Farm. _Sideswipe and Red Alert, accomplices_ Hope I did FlamingMarsh's bunny11 justice.**


End file.
